


The Wrong Man - Deleted Scenes

by Yellowdancer21



Series: The Wrong Man Collection [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Inquisitor Anders (Dragon Age), Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellowdancer21/pseuds/Yellowdancer21
Summary: This posting is a collection of deleted scenes and alternate versions of existing chapters in The Wrong Man. It won't make much sense without reading that story first, but if you're just here for some rare pairings, maybe you don't care so much about context and plot. Some of the scenes a silly and humorous and some are rather intense, so this really is a collection of random things.





	1. Varric/Anders/Bianca - Alt 16 - The Truth

**Author's Note:**

> STOP! If you haven't read The Wrong Man, you should probably go check that out first: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4317357/chapters/9789141
> 
> If you have already read that story (or don't care about the context of these scenes) then please continue. This first chapter is rather silly and stupid, but I'm planning on posting all of the scenes in chronological order so that if you want to reference where they were originally planned to fit within the story it will be easier. 
> 
> This one's just a humorous little warm up... It is an early draft of Chapter 16: The Truth

Varric was really sick of the snow. He’d never been an outdoorsy person to begin with, but in his opinion snow was about the worst environmental condition you could come across. It was cold, and when it got warm it melted which made a mess. The wind got colder blowing over it, and trying to wade through the stuff was as bad as slogging through sand. And they had been walking through it for what felt like days. Not to say he was ungrateful to be alive, but he would have been far more grateful to be warm and sheltered from the elements.

The sun reflected brilliantly off the slopes ahead, and Varric squinted into the light. Solas and Anders were just returning from another scouting trip, and judging by the looks on their faces, they were encouraged by what they had found. Varric was just glad to see Anders back on his feet and keeping busy. Tensions had been high during the attack on Haven, and while the battle had taken its toll on everyone, Anders had borne the brunt of it. Varric had noticed sentiments shifting over the last few days, however, especially in the way many in the Inquisition deferred to Anders. Even Cullen and Cassandra had started seeking his opinion and asking him to resolve conflicts when they couldn’t come to a decision on their own. Anders didn’t seem to know how to take this newfound respect, but Varric wasn’t surprised. Anders had sacrificed himself for their cause, and many thought his survival was nothing short of miraculous. The rumors of Andraste’s Herald were only going to take on new proportions now that he had apparently managed to defy death a second time. It was such a great story of tragedy and redemption that Varric was considering writing it all down.

Varric frowned when he noticed that the Seeker had fallen back to walk beside him. She normally walked fast enough to leave him in her dust, but she must have deliberately adjusted her pace to match his own.

“Anything I can do for you, Seeker?”

Looking at him thoughtfully, she said slowly,  “I was wondering. You and the Herald...”

Giving her a puzzled look, he echoed, “Me and the Herald, what?”

“You are...closer than I realized.”

“Closer?”

“You were so insistent that we lock him up when you first saw him at the breach. You were so angry. But I suppose strong attachment only makes betrayal that much harder to accept.”

Varric looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot. Dorian was close enough that it was possible that his sharp ears could overhear if he really tried to listen, but the mage seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. “I suppose,” Varric agreed. “We have been friends a long time, even if you leave out the gap after Kirkwall.”

“Yes. But I never would have suspected that the two of you were…” She cleared her throat. “Involved.”

“Wait.” Varric stopped and stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t think…” But she did. One look at her expression said it all. Stunned, he couldn’t think of anything to say, but she hurried to explain.

“After Haven, when he finally made it to our camp, I saw the tears drying on your cheeks. The way you held him was tender, affectionate.”

“It was rather touching,” Dorian chimed in suddenly, slowing down to join them.

Swallowing his laughter, Varric did his best to keep his expression neutral, but giggles kept threatening to bubble out of his throat. This was too perfect a set up to waste. Sighing in exaggerated disappointment, he said. "So you finally figured us out." Looking back over his shoulder, he searched the crowd for Anders. “Blondie! Blondie, where are you? We’ve got a problem.”

Anders appeared at his elbow a few moments later, concern creasing his brows. “What is it?”

“Our secret’s out,” Varric said solemnly, trying to communicate the ruse with only his eyes, but Anders only looked more confused. “They know the truth,” he said, gesturing between the two of them, “about us." Cupping Anders’ jaw, he rubbed a thumb over his cheek as he added, “There’s no reason to hide anymore.”

Anders nodded slowly even though the uncertainty in his eyes said that he was still not getting it. “How did they find out?” he asked uncertainly as he fished for information. “You didn’t tell them, did you?” Somehow he managed to keep his expression as serious as Varric’s. That was one of Varric’s favorite things about Anders—one of the things he’d missed when Justice began taking more and more of him away—he was always quick to pick up on a joke and usually game to play along.

“No! Of course I didn’t tell them. I would never betray your trust like that.” Varric risked a glance at Cassandra and Dorian to see if they were still fooled. Cassandra looked uncomfortable with witnessing their seemingly intimate conversation in such a public setting, but Dorian had doubt glimmering in his eyes. Time to up the ante. “But to be honest, I’m glad they finally know. I’m tired of hiding how much I love you. Keeping it all bottled up, when all I want to do is just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence when he looked up at Anders, laughter choking his throat when he saw understanding dawn in his friend’s eyes.

“Varric,” Anders said soothingly, completely on board now. Wrapping an arm around Varric’s shoulders, he pulled him close and said in a stage whisper, “I know. I love you too.” Anders’ hand stroked over his shoulders possessively, and then Varric felt pressure against the crossbow on his back. “Both you and Bianca.” Barely stifling his laughter, Varric had to hide his face in Anders’ coat until he could regain his composure.

“What is going on over here?” Cullen demanded suddenly, and Varric wondered how many people they could pull into this joke before it collapsed under its own weight.

“Perhaps we should give them some space,” Cassandra said uncertainly.

Clearing his throat, Dorian added drolly, “Yes. I think we’ve all seen enough.” So they’d lost Dorian, but at least he wasn’t completely shattering the illusion.

“Exactly what _am_ I seeing?” Cullen asked, more dumbfounded than annoyed now.

“I told you they wouldn’t be able to accept us,” Anders said with fairly convincing outrage, releasing Varric and turning on the others. “Their definition of love is too narrow to conceive of a relationship like ours.”

Summoning a straight expression, Varric took in the reactions: Cassandra’s mortification, the twinkle of mirth in Dorian’s eyes and Cullen’s complete bewilderment. “We don’t need them, Blondie. Not as long as we have each other.”

“What?” Cullen said and then turned bright red from his neck up to the tips of his ears. “You’re...I mean...the two of you…”

“The three of us,” Anders corrected sharply, still in character.

Cullen stared at him with eyes as big as saucers. “Three?!”

Varric lost it then, eyes watering with all of his repressed laughter as a riotous cackle exploded from his throat. A smile broke across Anders face while a scowl darkened Cassandra’s, and Dorian’s laughter rivaled Varric’s for volume. Slapping Anders on the back, Varric said between bouts of laughter, “That. Was. Amazing. Best one yet.”

Anders wiped at his eyes as he laughed. “Better than that time we tricked Fenris into thinking Marian and the Arishok were secret lovers?”

“A hundred times. Did you see the look on Curly’s face when he said ‘three?’ Your delivery was perfect!”

"That’s enough," Cassandra interrupted, arms crossed over her stomach, expression livid. "You've had your fun. It’s obvious I was mistaken."

“I missed something wonderful, didn’t I?” Iron Bull asked, joining them with a mournful look.

“You missed something incredibly childish and cruel,” Cassandra retorted and stalked away, a glowering Cullen following in her wake.

“Now, now, Seeker. It was all in good fun,” Varric protested. “Just a little prank.”

“Did someone say prank?” Sera asked, popping up out of nowhere.

“Come along,” Dorian said. “We’ll give you a reenactment.”


	2. Anders/Dorian - Alt 23 - Out of Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my early drafts I had a hard time not hooking these two up at every opportunity. It seemed so natural and obvious, but I liked the idea that Anders had changed too much to find it so easy to just fall into bed with someone like Dorian without worrying about the consequences. Still, Dorian is stubborn and kept trying to get his way in spite of my efforts to keep their relationship from progressing. And in this version I decided to have Anders give in.

The entire time he was talking to the former Grand Enchanter, Anders felt the weight of Dorian’s gaze from the little alcove the Tevinter had claimed within the library. Dorian sprawled within his leather chair with a book open on his lap, positioning himself strategically so his bare shoulder was clearly visible to the room. No one could deny that Dorian was attractive—and knew it—but something about him made Anders wary. He was too slick, too charming…too much like Anders had been in his younger years. He wasn’t sure if it was his time with Justice that had changed his perspective on such things or if he was simply getting old, but Dorian was an uncomfortable reminder of everything he had once been. And if the similarities were more than skin deep, then he was sure to be hiding any number of issues behind his sarcastic facade—more than Anders was equipped to deal with on top of his own. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still tempted. He might be out of practice at such things, but he wasn't dead.

Wrapping up his conversation with Fiona, Anders steeled himself as he turned to face Dorian, meeting the heat in those dark eyes with a neutral smile. “You’ve found yourself a nice spot for people-watching, I see,” he said, leaning against the bookshelf at the edge of the alcove in an attempt to stay well out of reach.

“I could watch you roam Skyhold all day,” Dorian purred, “Running here and there checking in on your followers. Why don’t they come to you? Feed you grapes? Rub your shoulders?”

Ignoring the innuendo, Anders said, “I prefer to stay busy. And from what I’ve seen today, that shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone always needs something.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Dorian agreed, straightening in his chair and adjusting the book on his lap.

“Reading anything interesting?” Anders asked, trying to get a peek at the cover.

A mischievous smile curled Dorian’s lips, exaggerated by the well-groomed curve of his moustache. “A modern classic, or so the book jacket says. You should know it well. It’s your friend Varric’s best known work.” He lifted the book so Anders could read the name clearly on the spine:  _ The Tale of the Champion _ .

Unable to entirely hide his reaction, Anders faked a cough and shook his head. “Whatever possessed you to read that?”

The glint in Dorian’s eyes was just gloating enough to make Anders nervous. “I think you already know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Closing the book and tapping it against one knee, Dorian considered him with a smug look for a moment before standing up and sidling closer. “The mage in the story, the one who goes up against Meredith at the end? He’s such a tragic character, don’t you think?” Dorian’s hand landed against the shelf next to Anders’ shoulder and he tried not to flinch as the mage leaned in, voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “So idealistic and brave. The book implies that he died in the ensuing battle, but I’m not so sure he did. What do you think?”

“I think you’re giving Varric too much credit for his subtlety.”

Dorian shook his head slowly, his tongue tracing over his top teeth as he considered his response. Anders tried not to find that appealing, but he was merely out of practice at such things, not dead. “You aren’t going to admit it, are you?”

“Admit what?” Anders asked innocently, resisting the voice in the back of his mind that urged him to duck away when Dorian leaned even closer.

“I know who you are. Iron Bull confirmed it.”

Anders’ eyebrows leapt upward. “Bull?”

“He is a spy, remember?”

Trying and failing to ignore the warmth radiating distractingly off Dorian’s body, Anders gave himself a moment to take in all this new information before he reacted. “So you know who I am… And you’re fine with it?” he asked curiously.

“I’m in no place to judge. I wasn’t there. All I have to go on is what I see before me, and it’s obvious to me that you are good man who was driven to desperate measures. I might do something equally as radical if I thought it was the only way to cause change in Tevinter.”

Anders shook his head firmly. “I certainly hope not.”

“Why?”

“I wouldn’t wish the consequences of such a decision on anyone.”

Anders slipped out from between Dorian and the bookcase, putting a little space between them so he could gather his thoughts. He was stunned by how easily Dorian was willing to dismiss his actions, and he could only conclude that reading about them in a book made them much easier to forgive. Dorian hadn’t seen them firsthand, hadn't witnessed all the pain they had caused. Culture might have had something to do with it as well; Dorian’s own countrymen had done some truly awful things over the years, after all, and his ability to feel any pride in his homeland at all must require a lot of creative excuse-making.

“Does it bother you that I know the truth?” Dorian asked softly, his voice more honest than Anders’ had ever heard it.

“No. I don’t like hiding from who I am. I’ve spent enough of my life running away from things. But I understand why it’s necessary given the circumstances. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else.”

Dorian scoffed, the flair of drama returning to his voice as he replied, “I’m from Tevinter. I know how to keep a secret.”  

Anders laughed, wondering if he had sounded that arrogant in the past; he must have had at least half of Dorian’s charm in order to pull it off, but such confidence felt as foreign to him now as the nobility in Orlais.

Arching a brow playfully, Dorian began casually closing the distance between them again. “Any other secrets you’d care to confide while we’re on the topic?”

This was the point at which Anders would normally say something to cool him off and push him away. But he was aching for acceptance and affection right now, and Dorian was offering both so generously. If Justice had still been in his head, he might have been able to resist the temptation, but Justice was partially to blame for his current state in the first place. Years of denial wore on a person, especially a person who thrived on contact as much as Anders, and after the rejection he had felt after Hawke’s visit, he desperately needed reassurance.

“I might have a few other secrets to share,” he said softly, watching as Dorian practically shivered with delight.

“Is that so?” Dorian murmured, close enough now for Anders to feel his breath against his cheek. His smile did things to Anders that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time, and he found himself reaching out before he could think better of the motion, catching at one of the many belts on Dorian’s outfit and pulling him even closer. Dorian hummed softly in approval, reaching up to trace fingers lightly over Anders’ jaw. “Shall we trade secrets here or find somewhere more private?”

Anders’ head was spinning from the speed at which things were progressing, but he was willing to be swept along by the current. Before he could think better of the idea, he leaned in for a kiss, closing the distance between them with something like muscle memory. He could feel Dorian smiling against his lips, but not for long because soon he had the mage moaning in his mouth in surprise as he fell back into old patterns that he hadn’t known he remembered until they took over. The kiss was familiar and new and almost overwhelming to his senses after such a long absence, but once Dorian got over his surprise, he demonstrated that his skills were far less rusty. Quickly taking command, Dorian slid quick fingers inside his coat and found places to caress that made Anders nearly squirm in pleasure. But it wasn’t until Dorian started rolling his hips with delicious pressure against Anders’ own that he realized they had to stop right now or they were going to give the whole room a show.

Pulling away from the kiss, Anders stared into Dorian’s heated eyes for a moment and tried to regain his poise. “Upstairs, my room, ten minutes,” he whispered breathlessly, forcing Dorian far enough away to prevent him from making any more contact.

Dorian was grinning like a cat, his lips pink and bright. “Yes, sir,” he replied with a little bow before practically collapsing back in his chair and strategically covering his lap with a book.


	3. Anders/Dorian - Alt 26 - Meeting Your Heroes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the one before it had probably a dozen variations before I arrived at the final versions. I tried just about every different point of view and played around with several different outcomes, but I didn't end up saving every version in its entirety, so what I'm posting here is a compilation of the best stuff I saved. You can see hints of other scenes in here so it's obvious that working through this chapter led me to ideas that I ended up using in later chapters.

They agreed to meet up again in the Western Approach, but it was too late to start back for Skyhold, so they decided to make camp beneath a rocky overhang nearby. Varric managed to convince Hawke to stay with them for a while, though he was frustrated by how much time she spent covertly glaring at Anders while they were talking. Though he had told Anders that she would have to come to terms with him on her own, he itched to fall back into his old role of peacemaker. He might have actually made an attempt if he could have figured out how to start the conversation, but every opener he could think of sounded condescending and trite. So he kept his mouth shut and listened to the Seeker interrogate Hawke about all her epic feats instead, trying not to take too much pleasure in Cassandra’s constant disappointment.

"But how did you defeat the Arishok?” Cassandra cried. “His fighting prowess was legendary!"

Hawke sighed. "Well, he was pretty fast, but I'm faster, so I just sort of kept running away and waiting for him to swing that big club of a sword at me. Then, while he was trying to lift it up again, I'd get a few stabs in. It was really a matter of endurance."

Cassandra's expression darkened. "But that's..."

"Not as impressive as Varric made it sound? I get that a lot."

"Hey, a little embellishment never hurt anyone," Varric protested, standing up to stretch the kinks out of his back.

“You say that,” Hawke said, “but you haven’t had to deal with all the idiots who challenged me to a fight simply because your stories make me sound invincible.”

“You've survived them, haven't you? Maybe I didn’t exaggerate as much as you think.”

“See? This is what he does when he knows I’m right about something,” Hawke complained. “He turns on the charm and pays me a compliment.”

Cassandra nodded with a frown. “He does, doesn’t he?”

Excusing himself from the conversation before they could continue their critique, Varric wandered away from the campfire. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Anders standing on the edge of camp looking out into the night, seemingly unaware of the water dripping from the overhang onto his head. Smiling, Varric moved forward to rescue him from his own lack of awareness, but paused when he saw Dorian step out of the shadows beside Anders.

“You are getting drenched standing out there like that,” Dorian said, clucking his tongue as he pulled Anders out of the rain.

Glancing at him in surprise, Anders smiled reflexively, though he seemed to make a conscious effort not to lean into Dorian’s touch. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“So I see.” Dorian tugged on his shoulder when Anders shivered, pulling him closer to share body heat.

Anders stiffened slightly at the touch, but allowed himself to be moved. "We should investigate that rift in the lake tomorrow,” he said softly. “I won't leave those villagers to fend for themselves like the Wardens did."

Lips curving with amusement, Dorian asked, "Don't you ever rest?"

"I'm not very good at it," Anders admitted reluctantly. Varric thought that must be the understatement of the year; back in Kirkwall he had always blamed Justice for Anders’ obsession with work, but he could see now that Anders wasn’t much better at relaxing without the spirit’s influence, though that probably had as much to do with the endless demands of the Inquisition as anything else.

Peering at him curiously, Dorian observed, “You seem troubled.”

Anders sighed, but didn’t reply. Varric realized at this point that he was blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation and considered retreating, but his curiosity won him over. Besides, he got his best material from listening in on conversations.

“If you need to talk. I’m more than happy to listen,” Dorian said in a tone that promised far more than conversation.

“I’d put that much together, yes.” Anders wasn’t exactly dismissive, but it wasn’t encouraging either.

“Does that mean you aren’t interested?”

Anders gave Dorian a look that was so steeped in vulnerability Varric immediately felt guilty for eavesdropping on something so private. “That’s not it,” Anders said finally. “But I’m too committed to our cause to have the time or energy for anything else right now. Stopping Corypheus is all that matters.” 

Dorian chuckled and shifted his grip on Anders' shoulder, tracing lightly down his arm and adjusting his stance in order to slip his arm around Anders' waist. “In Tevinter this sort of liaison is desperate and fleeting by necessity so I have no expectations of romance or commitment. But I find you intriguing and you’re obviously lonely. I’m more than happy to provide a little comfort. Whatever you need.”

Anders frowned. “You deserve better than that.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Dorian tugged him closer. “But I’m content with whatever you’re willing to offer.”

Anders glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the camp and the two women still seated in the glow of the fire. Slouching a bit further into the shadows, Varric wondered if he should slip away before he got caught, but he froze in place when he saw Anders step out of the circle of Dorian’s arm and out into the rain. 

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” he said sadly, raindrops falling over his face like tears. “I won’t say I’m not tempted. But here? Tonight? I can’t.”

“Another time, then?” Dorian lifted a hand to Anders cheek and leaned in to press a lingering kiss against Anders’ lips before turning away. “You know where to find me.”

Varric held his breath while Dorian returned to camp, knowing he should probably follow him and leave Anders to his own thoughts, but his better judgment failed to stop him from doing the opposite. Purposely stepping on a branch to announce his presence as he approached, he smiled disarmingly at Anders when the mage rounded on him with an exasperated expression.

“Varric,” Anders said, annoyance shifting to resignation when he saw him. “How much did you overhear?”

Shrugging, Varric decided to answer honestly. “Pretty much all of it.”

Anders groaned.

“Don’t worry, Blondie. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Scoffing, Anders leaned back against a nearby rock and buried his face in his hands. “I’m a complete mess, aren’t I?”

“That isn’t exactly new.”

Anders peeked out at him from between his fingers. “Your reassurance is overwhelming.”

Shrugging, Varric replied, “If it makes you feel any better, you surprised me just now. I’ve been expecting you and Sparkler to fall into bed together for a while.”

Anders let his hands fall to his sides. “And yet you sound less than enthused by the prospect.”

“As you just established, you’re a bit of a mess. And despite his air of invincibility I have my doubts that Sparkler is much better.”

Looking back at the campfire, Anders watched Dorian exchange a few words with Cassandra and Hawke before disappearing into one of the tents. “It’s strange what he said about Tevinter. Affection was just as fleeting in the Circle. I used to fantasize about what it would be like to live in a place where I could be a free mage who wasn’t persecuted for his powers. I wanted that kind of life so badly I could taste it. But here he is, a mage from Tevinter who grew up every bit as persecuted as I was, only for completely different reasons.”

“Life is hard everywhere.”

“That’s true enough. At times he reminds me so much of myself that it’s painful to even listen to him.” Shaking his head, he looked back at Varric. “I used to be a lot like him before I met Justice. I could charm my way into anyone’s bed with a few words and a smile. I never hesitated and I never looked back.”

Perching on a rock across from him, Varric arched a brow. “To be honest, I have a hard time imagining you like that.”

“I think you would have liked me back then. I was great at making people laugh and horrible at taking anything seriously. I was also a lot of fun, or so I’ve been told.”

Varric folded his arms over his chest and said decisively, “I like you well enough as you are now.”

“Even though I’m a complete mess?”

Varric laughed. “Being a mess is part of your charm!”

Rubbing at his forehead in frustration, Anders grimaced, “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Sorry, Blondie, but I suspect that no matter how different you think you are now, you’ve always been a bit of a mess.”

Sighing deeply, Anders leaned back and looked up at the rocky outcropping above them as if it held the answer he was seeking. Finally, he said, “You’re probably right. I just covered it up better back then.”

“And now you don’t have to.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Anders’ eyes. “Is that right? I thought being in charge of the Inquisition came with the unwritten requirement of being able to leave my mess at the door.”

Varric considered that thoughtfully. “They knew who you were when they chose you. And there’s something to be said for a vulnerable leader. It’s helps to know you’re flawed like the rest of us.”

“To a point, I suppose.”

“I think they also believed you could rise to the occasion, which you have. So stop beating yourself up about it, okay?”

A smile brightened Anders’ eyes before it reached his lips, and the affection in it made Varric want to squirm in embarrassment. “You’re surprisingly good at this encouragement thing.”

Forcing a laugh, Varric asked, “What’s surprising about that? I’m good at most things I try.”

“Except for humility, it seems.”

“Who says I’ve ever tried it?”

Still smiling, Anders shook his head and turned away. “Good night, Varric.”

“Night, Blondie.”

Varric wasn’t sure what made him wait while Anders walked back to camp, but he was glad he did when he heard the shuffle of boots in the underbrush. The dying light of the fire barely illuminated Hawke’s features as she sat down on a rock beside him, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to read her expression even if he could see it more clearly.

“How much did you hear?” he asked, smirking at his sudden role reversal.

“Not much. Enough to realize he is struggling more than I thought.”

Varric nodded. “And?”

“I’m not ready to forgive him, if that’s what you’re asking. But I can see how one could start to accept him again.”

“One?” Varric arched a brow at her.

She smiled wearily. “You.”

“That sounds almost like progress.”

“Don’t read too much into it.” Standing up and brushing the dirt off her breeches, she started to back away. “I should be getting back to the cave. Stroud and I are leaving for the Western Approach first thing in the morning. I’ll see you there.”

“Be careful.”

Hawke rolled her eyes at him.

Laughing, he revised, “And leave some fun for the rest of us.”


	4. Various - Alt after 33 - History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little tangent is something that would have taken place after Anders turns Dorian down in chapter 33. I played around with so many options that I wasn’t sure what to post here, but I thought this one introduced some interesting plot points that ended up getting left on the cutting room floor. Romance-wise, it mostly deals with the fallout of Anders/Dorian but there are definitely some Varric/Anders hints in here as well.

Anders had never felt more eager to pick a fight with a dragon. Anything to distract himself from his recent mistakes. He had known that he would eventually have to deal with Dorian's infatuation directly, but he'd hoped to handle it far more elegantly than he had in the end. He had been so good at such things in the past, but that might have been because he rarely turned anyone down, so hungry for affection that he would accept it from almost anywhere. Part of him still felt that desperation, and it had been long enough since he’d last been kissed—let alone touched—that he ached to turn around and tell Dorian he’d changed his mind simply for the immediate comfort and release such contact could provide. But he was dealing with enough of the consequences of his actions to know better than to leap without looking.

And he’d already done enough to lead Dorian on. Shaking his head, he realized that Dorian had likely taken his reaction to his father as encouragement, assuming Anders’ anger was driven by a desire to protect him. If he couldn’t trust himself to be merely a supportive friend without losing his temper and nearly losing his control, how could he trust himself to keep his head once deeper emotions were involved? Because feelings were inevitable. His playboy days were long over, and casual wasn’t a word he felt comfortable applying to himself anymore.

His reaction to Dorian’s father was proof enough of his inability to take anything lightly. The depth of his anger had even surprised him, but he’d always had a strong aversion to blood magic and he had a significant chip on his shoulder about parents rejecting their children over things they couldn’t control. The combination of the two triggers had crossed a line he hadn’t even known he had, and if he were being honest, his outrage probably had more to do with his own past and the injustice of the situation than with Dorian personally. Everything he’d said after that trigger point had been pure emotion, a flash of anger that helped to explain how his feelings had warped Justice over the years. He’d always had this capacity for violence within him. Justice had only unlocked it.

Making his way across the Hinterlands alone and on foot, he was still a good distance from the Dusklight camp when he was ambushed by bandits. If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he might have noticed the attack before he was surrounded, but unfortunately he didn’t see them coming until a knife was flying toward his head. He dodged out of instinct, but still felt the breeze from the blade as it flew past.

The next few moments were a flurry of blades and magic, but the fight was over almost before it began, Anders blacked up against a cliff face with a dagger pressed to his throat, his staff twisted out of his hands and fallen somewhere on the other side of the clearing. He could feel blood dripping from his fingers and more pooling in his boot, but neither wound was severe enough to be a liability. Looking around the group, he took stock of the bandit group’s numbers and tried to formulate a plan. He should have known better than to daydream when he was wandering around without backup, but he supposed he had gotten rather used to traveling with a team. Even when he'd been alone after Kirkwall he'd had Justice to watch his back. The last time he'd been left entirely alone to fend for himself had been on his escape attempts from the circle, and he'd mostly relied on charm and persuasion rather than brute force back then. Maybe they could serve him again.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” crowed the rogue with the dagger to Anders’ neck. “Another apostate run amok? Maybe we should give you back to your templar masters.”

“You can try,” Anders replied as calmly as he could manage, “but most of the templars have run amok as well.”

“They’d still be eager to get their hands on you.”

Smiling languidly, Anders gave him a sidelong look. “Most people are.” If he could keep them distracted long enough for his mana to regenerate, he could try an area attack, but without his staff to focus the magic he would only get one chance before he’d exhausted his reserves again. He would need to hit them all at once and they were too spread out at the moment for any of his spells to reach.

Chuckling darkly, the bandit moved a bit closer, rank breath blowing in Anders’ face as he said, “You’ve got a smart mouth, mage. Maybe I should find a better use for it.”

Anders’ heart was thudding painfully in his chest as the rogue leaned in, memories of a dozen similar encounters flooding back to him. He needed a better plan. Charm was only useful as a delaying tactic. Clenching his hands into fists, he felt energy tickle over his palm and remembered the anchor and the energy he had unconsciously summoned back in the tavern. He had never used the anchor as a weapon before, but rift energy could affect an area larger than any of his spells and it was unequaled in destructive power. It could work, assuming he could utilize it without accidentally summoning demons. He only needed the bandit beside him to lower his weapon a fraction, enough to give him room to maneuver.

“And here I thought we were developing a rapport,” he said softly. “Wouldn’t you rather keep me to yourself?”

“I’d rather get paid,” the bandit replied with a smirk.

“Then you’d better not damage the goods.” He lifted a hand to trace fingertips over the bandit’s wrist.

“Oh, we’ll leave enough of you intact to fetch a handsome price.” Glancing over his shoulder at his companions, the bandit shouted, “Someone get me some rope so I can tie him up.”

He only looked away for a moment, but that was all the time Anders needed to make his move. Wedging his hand between his neck and the bandit’s arm, he forced the dagger away from his throat and activated the anchor, yanking on the threads of energy until he felt something give way. Screams immediately filled his ears, eerie green light blinding his vision as the veil tore open above him, tearing at the air, ground and anything in its path until it had consumed all the energy in the area. The bandits didn’t have a chance, and they fell to the ground one by one, either dead or unconscious. He decided he didn’t really want to know which.

Closing the rift with a flick of his wrist, he used only enough magic as was necessary to patch up his injuries and hurried away from the scene. The trick with the rift worked well, but he had a sense that it would be a while before he could use it again. He'd have to rely on traditional magic if he ran into more obstacles, and he didn't want to wear himself out before the fight with the dragon. Picking his path more carefully through the woods, he tried to avoid any more unpleasant encounters, hoping that Dorian would be more alert and less distracted than he had been on his journey.

His caution paid off and he made it to the camp without further incident. The Iron Bull was pacing when he arrived, throwing impatient glances over his shoulder at the craggy rock formation leading toward the dragon’s domain. Sera was perched on the requisition table beside him looking bored as she kicked her heels through the air.

“There you are, boss!” Bull said brightly when he saw Anders approaching, but his eyes narrowed when he saw the blood on his clothes. “Run into trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Anders replied evasively. “Did you find the dragon?”

“Did we find the dragon?” he repeated with a laugh. “She found us! But we did get a glimpse of her nest for our trouble.” Rubbing absently at a burn on the back of his arm, he added, “Not without a little singing, but at least we know which direction she’ll retreat when wounded.”

“Good. Now we just have to wait for Dorian.”

“Wait. The Vint isn’t with you?”

Anders shook his head and leaned back against the table next to Sera, crossing his arms over his chest. “He should be along shortly.”

Bull frowned, but accepted this without comment. “The dragon’s a frostback," he said, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "I recognized the patterns on her hide. She’ll be immune to most magical attacks except for cold, and she breathes fire like we breathe air. She makes the most amazing little gurgle before she spits it too, and the smell of the fires burning…” He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat that resembled the one he had described the dragon making. “And then there’s her roar! What I wouldn’t give to roar like that. It’s enough to freeze you in your tracks.”

“I think he wants to marry it,” Sera commented with a smirk.

“Or at least have a heated affair,” Anders agreed, causing Sera to snort in amusement.

“You jest,” Bull said gravely, “but there are rumors that we might actually be distantly related. Qunari hold dragons sacred—well, as much as we hold anything sacred. We call them atashi, the glorious ones. Aaaataaaasheeee.” He sighed deeply. “I can’t wait to kill one.”

Sera screwed up her face in disgust. “You just said they might be like your cousin’s cousin’s second cousin or summat like that. And you just want to kill ‘em?” She leaned toward Anders as if sharing a secret but didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Qunari are weird.”

“My people have been saying as much for decades.”

Anders turned to see Dorian entering the clearing with a deliberate swagger to his step, every scrap of emotion tucked away behind his usual sarcastic facade; he hoped Dorian wasn’t making extra effort for his benefit.

“Well, consider the source,” Bull said wryly. “You Vints have some pretty bizarre standards.”

“I suppose we do,” Dorian admitted with a wistful smile. Clapping his hands together, he asked, "So, are we going to fight a dragon or are we going to stand around talking about it all day?"

A laugh rumbled in Bull's chest at Dorian's audacity. “Says the man who was late to the party.”

“Fashionably late,” Dorian corrected.

Pushing away from the table, Anders asked, "Everyone stocked up on healing and lyrium potions?" They all nodded. "Then let's go."

“So, Inquisitor,” Dorian said, catching his sleeve before they got too far. Anders stiffened, worried he was going to bring up what had happened before they parted ways, but Dorian seemed content to let the incident go. “I came across something odd in the forest: a group of dead bandits.”

Anders swallowed. “What’s so odd about that?” he asked dryly. “Someone must have finally gotten tired of their thievery.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t just that they were dead. It was the way they fell, all in a circle as if they’d been hit by a great wave or something. Any idea what could cause something like that?” Dorian looked at him with concern pooling in his eyes, then glanced down at his hand with a frown.

Clenching his hand, Anders looked away. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“But it was you? And you did it with the anchor?”

Anders nodded.

“I was a bit worried after what happened in the tavern,” Dorian admitted.

“I can control it,” Anders said firmly, though he wasn't entirely sure. He could probably control the magic itself without much trouble, but the question was if he could control the impulse to use it.

The Iron Bull cried out in triumph ahead of them before Dorian could voice the question in his eyes, and they emerged from the cavern just in time to see the dragon circling overhead.

“Here we go!” Bull shouted, brandishing his sword and nearly hitting Dorian as he swung the blade. “Taarsidath-an halsaam!”

“Watch where you’re pointing that thing,” Dorian complained.

Looking back over his shoulder, Bull arched a brow. “Dirty!”

“Vishante kaffas, I meant your weapon.”

Bull chuckled and ran out into the clearing, chopping at dragonlings as he went. There was nothing for them to do but follow. The dragon was a bit more elusive than Anders had expected after Bull's description, and they had to fight a number of smaller beasts before she made her first real attack, but by the time the dragon landed with an earth-shaking tremor, Sera was giggling with glee and Iron Bull was roaring in excitement. Dorian seemed less enthused, but was firing spells rapidly at the beast without reservation while Anders did his best to keep them all alive long enough to see the end of the fight. 

* * *

“To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!” Bull cried before downing another drink in one long swallow.

Anders followed suit and immediately regretted the decision, choking on the burning liquid as soon as it hit his throat. He felt as if his skin were too tight for his body, the tavern around him entirely too hot, loud and close. Coughing, he watched numbly as Bull refilled his flagon before he could protest.

“Maraas Lok,” he said encouragingly, but Anders simply stared at the dark liquid as if he could drown in it.

“This stuff is truly awful,” Dorian laughed from the qunari’s opposite side, returning his empty tankard to the bar with a thud. “But effective.”

“I know, right?” Bull agreed. “It’ll put some chest on your chest.” Sighing in satisfaction, the qunari shook his head. “What a battle. Taarsidath-an halsaam!”

“You said that during the battle as well,” Dorian commented. “I’ll admit my Qunlat is a bit lacking, but does it actually mean what I think it means?”

“Closest translation would be: I will bring myself sexual pleasure later while thinking about this with great respect.”

Laughing a bit too loudly, Dorian replied, “How provocative." He looked up at Bull with an scalding smile. "I don’t suppose you could use any help fulfilling that vow?”

Anders’ stomach roiled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pushing his tankard away.

“Are you sure about what you’re offering, Dorian?” Bull asked slowly.

“I don’t know… Why don’t you tell me again how much you admire my staff.”

“We’ve just killed the shit out of a dragon,” Bull replied in a dark tone. “I can do better than that.”

Deciding that he had endured more than enough clumsy flirting between the pair for one day, Anders attempted to make his exit. He was relieved to see that Dorian had found an interested party to give him what Anders could not, but he didn’t really want to witness any more of their affair than he already had. Sliding unsteadily off his stool, he clutched at the bar to keep himself from continuing his descent to the floor and waited for the room to stop swaying.

“Leaving already, Boss?” Bull asked, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I need to check on Sera,” Anders replied. “That burn looked serious.”

“Are you kidding? She was giggling when we walked away. And from the blush on that surgeon’s face, I’d say she’s in good hands.” A deafening laugh rumbled suddenly from his throat, and he released his grip on Anders' shoulder, reaching for the bottle and pouring out another portion for the three of them, not noticing Anders hadn't drank his last; dark liquid ran over the side of the tankard and pooled on the bar. “Did you see the look on her face when I flung her at the dragon?" He asked, draining his own glass. "She thought I was kidding about my new tactic, but her frown sure turned into an ear-splitting grin when she landed.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed heartily. “And she did get to deliver the final blow. It was incredibly reckless and dangerous—and very much up her alley.”

Taking advantage of their distraction, Anders began wobbling to the door. He likely would have ended up in the fire a few steps later if a strong arm hadn’t wrapped around his waist and kept him on his feet.

“Let’s get you some fresh air, Blondie,” Varric advised.

Anders nodded, his stomach turning over with every step. Once they were outside, he tilted his head back and sucked in a deep breath. The fresh air helped, but he still felt as if he were burning from the inside out. Varric lead him toward a pair of crates in the corner of the courtyard, and Anders sat down heavily, cradling his forehead in his palm and staring down at his feet.

“How are you feeling?” Varric asked, rubbing reassuring circles over his back and dragging the other crate closer so he could sit down without breaking contact.

“Like I’m going to float away,” Anders mumbled. Varric chuckled, and the velvety sound did something strange to Anders’ insides, either the quantity of drink in his system or his own frustrations causing him to find the sound more intriguing than he should; perhaps there had been more in that awful stuff than merely alcohol. Sucking in a breath, he tried to banish the traitorous desires before they had a chance to fully form in his mind, bending further over his knees as if he could shrink away from his own thoughts.

“You going to be sick?” Varric asked in concern, and the compassion in his voice just made everything worse.

Anders shook his head and instantly regretted the gesture, feeling as if he might be sick after all when a wave of dizziness washed over him.

“Just breathe,” Varric said soothingly, his hand sliding up to the nape of Anders’ neck and brushing damp hair away from his skin. “I’ve got you.”

Shivering involuntarily, Anders buried his face in his hands and tried to ignore the feeling of calloused fingertips against overly sensitive skin. But his effort was pointless, and eventually he decided not to think about the source of the sensation but simply revel in the contact. He had always craved touch more than most people, and after his year in solitary that craving had become an obsession. Justice had helped him take control of it, but Dorian’s kiss had brought it to the surface again and the alcohol had only intensified it.

“So,” Varric said lightly, unaware of Anders' silent struggle, “Tiny certainly has an unhealthy obsession with dragons, doesn't he? Do you think it’s a qunari thing? Or is it just him? I don’t really recall the Arishok mentioning anything about dragons, although the only one we really dealt with in Kirkwall was that one in the Bone Pit, so who knows?” Varric’s fingers paused for a moment before continuing their maddening dance over Anders’ skin. “And he finally made a move on Sparkler. Can’t say I’m surprised. Sparkler protests far too much not to be interested, and Tiny hasn’t bothered to hide his interest at all.”

Anders straightened and Varric let his hand fall from his back.

“Better?”

Anders nodded.

“I have to admit,” Varric continued, picking his words carefully and even in his current state Anders could tell he was fishing for a reaction. “With the way you and Sparkler flirt all the time, I actually thought there was something going on between you two, especially after I heard you were going to Redcliffe to meet his family. But I guess I had it wrong.”

The question in Varric’s voice begged an answer and Anders shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m not disappointed! Relieved, actually.”

Anders frowned at him, but Varric just smiled innocently.

“It’s rude to manipulate someone’s emotions when their defenses are down, you know?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Blondie.”

“You don’t believe me, and you’re trying to provoke a reaction that will prove it.”

Varric chuckled, but the sound was forced. “That doesn’t sound like me at all!”

Too tired to play verbal games any longer, Anders snapped, “You want the truth? Fine. Dorian kissed me. I pushed him away. And yes, I regret it a little. But not for the reasons you might think.”

Sighing deeply, Varric asked more seriously, “Then why?”

“I hate being alone,” he whispered.

“You’re not alone,” Varric argued. “You’re surrounded by people who care about you.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Swallowing hard, he added, “But I know that at this point I’m better off alone, and it’s better for everyone else if I stay that way.”

Varric didn’t protest this time, and that seemed to suggest he agreed, but Anders didn't want to look at him to confirm his theory.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, he began to stand up on shaky legs. “I’m going to bed.”

"Blondie, wait!" Varric held him down. "Being alone isn't so bad. And just because you're alone now doesn't mean you'll be alone forever."

"Says the man who has been alone the entire time I've known him," Anders replied with a skeptical glance.

"I'm not alone," Varric said with utter seriousness.

"No, of course not. You have your crossbow to keep you company," Anders retorted, regretting the sarcastic words as soon as they left his lips.

Varric's hand tightened painfully on his arm. "I don't think I like you much when you're drunk."

Shaking his head and clutching at the edge of the crate hard enough that he was likely to drive splinters into his skin, Anders said in a choked voice, "That's okay. I don't like myself much either."

Peering at him through narrowed eyes, Varric frowned. "This isn't just about Sparkler, is it? Something else is bothering you."

Anders sighed. “I murdered a group of bandits.”

Confused, Varric asked, “Did they attack you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you calling it murder?”

“Because they didn’t have a chance. They cornered me. I was alone and surrounded, and I couldn’t see another way out. So I used the anchor to open a rift, and it sucked their lives away in an instant.”

Anders could feel Varric shudder just before he released his grip on his arm, likely to hide the reaction.

“And before that, in Redcliffe…” Anders turned his hand over and stared at the anchor flickering over his palm. “I nearly attacked Dorian's father with it. I don’t know why I let him get to me, but hearing how he had treated Dorian brought back my own memories, the feelings I had as a child when my father called the templars to take me away. Being rejected by someone who should love you unconditionally, and over something you can’t change about yourself… It’s awful enough on its own. But his father actually tried to change him with blood magic. The thought of it just…” He clenched his hand, flashes of green light escaping from between his fingers.

Anders was afraid to look at Varric to see his reaction, but his voice was rough when he said aptly, “Well, shit.”

Anders nodded. “The potential for violence must have been in me long before I ever allowed Justice into my head. He merely unlocked it." Looking down at the anchor, he added, "And this is too much power for someone like me to have. I don’t know if I can control it.”

“You can,” Varric insisted. “You have to.”

“But if I can’t,” Anders said, turning to face him and pinning him with his eyes. “If you see that I’m losing control, you have to stop me.”

Varric swallowed, and Anders could see the spark of fear in his eyes. “Of course.” Reaching up to cup the side of Anders’ face, he repeated it as if to convince himself. “Of course I will.”

“Whatever it takes?”

Wincing, Varric nodded and looked away, his voice strained as he repeated, “Whatever it takes.”

Relieved, Anders sat silently for a moment, staring at his feet.

"This isn't likely to improve your mood," Varric's said casually, "but Hawke made it back from the Western Approach while you were gone."

"She's here?" Anders asked, looking around the courtyard self-consciously and half expecting to see Hawke lurking somewhere and watching him make a fool of himself.

"She was with your advisors last I knew, helping them plan our attack on Adamant."

Anders groaned. "Doing my job for me."

"No one expects you to do that kind of work, Blondie, so just give yourself a break."

"I'm not very good at that."

"Obviously." Varric stood up and stepped in front of him, grasping his wrists and hauling him to his feet. "I think you had the right idea before. You're exhausted, and wallowing in self-doubt isn't helping anything. Let's get you to bed."

Anders nodded silently and decided that Varric was right. In the morning they would probably be heading for Adamant. He would have a mission and a purpose again—and no time to dwell on the things he couldn’t change.


	5. Cullen/Anders - Alt before 36 Adamant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little tangent popped up in a few locations, but it never quite fit with the way the rest of the story was going so I ended up taking it out. I had it labeled as “Side Effects” in my backup file because that idea was the original inspiration for the whole thing.

The door to the armory swung open with such force that it rebounded off the inside wall and Cassandra’s hand instinctively reached for the sword she’d left on a chair upstairs despite the fact that she was in the middle of Skyhold and no one was likely to attack her. But her posture remained tense even when she saw Cullen walking through the door, his steps slow and wary like a predator’s, eyes bloodshot as they focused on her. He looked exhausted, his hair wild and curling in every direction, his cheeks gaunt and bruised with dark shadows. Seeing him in such a state made her chest ache with sympathy;  his condition had improved so much lately that she’d started to hope he was over the worst of his withdrawal, but clearly the addiction had not released its hold on him yet.

Voice rough and expression grave, he said, "It’s time. You must relieve me of my position."

Frowning, she shook her head. "Cullen...there’s no need to act rashly. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard and clearly haven't gotten enough rest. Take some time off, get some sleep and you’ll get through this."

"There’s no point!" Cullen protested, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "Nightmares plague me all night long, and by morning I feel more exhausted than I did when I went to bed. Something must give, and I won't let it be the Inquisition." Leaning a hand against a column, he sighed. “I almost got a whole regiment of soldiers killed today! I can’t make a mistake like that again.”

She winced, hating that she agreed with him. But there were alternatives. "Have you gone to the Inquisitor yet?" she asked gently, fully expecting the outrage she saw in his eyes when he looked up at her.

"I asked  _ you _ to keep an eye on me,” he said, shaking his head violently. “He has nothing to do with this."

"But he offered to help, didn't he?"

His eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"

"He asked me to let him know if I thought you needed his help."

“And you agreed?” he whispered, betrayal in his eyes.

“I did,” she replied impatiently. She didn’t know how to deal with Cullen when he was in this sort of state.

“How could you betray my trust like that?”

“It was hardly betrayal!” she snapped, exasperated by his muddled logic.

He didn’t reply, turning his back on her.

“Cullen. He’s worried about you, and so am I. Let him do what he can. And if he can’t help, then I will do as you ask. But I won’t even consider removing you from your post until you’ve given him a chance to try.”

Sitting down in a nearby chair, he scrubbed gloved hands over his stubbled jaw. “He tried to run away the other day.”

Her head spun at the sudden change of topic, but she remained silent, leaning back against one of the wooden pillars while she listened.

“It was right after we learned that the Venatori plan to reveal his identity. He was so angry that we weren’t willing to throw him to the wolves in order to save ourselves. He wanted us to denounce him and execute him for his crimes. Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied with a frown. “I can.”

“He was so selfish when I knew him before—even back in Kirkwall he cared only for his personal cause.” Jaw clenching, he shook his head. “Now I hardly recognize him. He’s so willing to throw his life away at a moment’s notice, so eager to give away pieces of himself until there’s nothing left.”

Still frowning, she tried to figure out what he was trying to say. And then she saw it in his eyes: he was fond of Anders, more attached than he wanted to admit. But more than that, he was afraid of letting Anders too close for fear that he’d lose something of himself along the way. She knew exactly what that felt like, and the realization that he felt the same way terrified her.

Sighing, she pushed away from the column and looked down at her boots. “Cullen, stop being a fool. He’s offering to take your pain away, not take it on himself.”

Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck and closed his eyes. “He’ll be intolerably smug.”

“Maybe he deserves to be,” she replied lightly. “Now stop arguing and go find him, preferably before you issue any new orders. You aren’t thinking clearly.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

She held her breath until he was gone, releasing it in a huff of frustration and concern. Maybe she should have gone with him?

*  * *

By the time Cullen found Anders, he was already in the War Room with Leliana, Josephine and a freshly arrived Hawke. Cullen stumbled a little when he saw the Champion, not quite prepared to see her again. She was a bit older now, but no less feisty than he remembered, that familiar teasing glimmer in her eyes as she turned to smile at him. The last time he’d seen her they’d been fighting side by side in Kirkwall’s streets, trying to bring order to the chaos that Anders had caused. The memory made him square his back, pushing his pain aside and deciding against asking for Anders’ help after all.

“Cullen. It’s good to see you again,” Hawke said warmly, frowning a little as she shook his hand. “But are you well? You look a bit under the weather.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, seeing Anders lift his head in his peripheral vision. He was standing next to Hawke and had been staring down at the maps, obviously trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Ignoring him, Cullen asked Hawke, “Were you able to track the Venatori mage?”

She nodded. “I was. He and the Wardens are holed up at Adamant, just as we suspected.”

“Excellent. Our bets paid off.”

“We’ll have to move quickly, though. They’re already planning some sort of massive ritual.”

Circling the table, Cullen joined the others and went to work on finalizing their plans. His determination had won him a little clear thought, but by the time Hawke finally took her leave and Leliana and Josephine excused themselves to take care of the details, his head was spinning again. Hearing the door snap shut, he let down his guard and leaned over the table, resting his head on his hands. Anders had been so quiet during their discussions that Cullen had almost forgotten he was still there. But he remembered as soon as the mage cleared his throat.

Looking up, he saw Anders standing on the other side of the table with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed as he studied Cullen.

“What?” Cullen demanded gruffly, though he already knew the answer.

Anders shook his head, a sad smile tugging his lips. Then, to Cullen’s surprise, he turned and walked away.

He had his hand on the door before Cullen heard himself call out in a broken voice, “Wait.”

Frozen in place, Anders didn’t even turn around.

“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

Sighing, Anders replied, “You’re the one making this difficult. All you have to do is ask.”

“I need your help.” The words tasted bitter in Cullen’s mouth, but he was relieved to see that Anders kept his smugness contained to his eyes, the rest of his face schooled to expressionlessness.

“This will be easier if you sit down or lean against something,” Anders instructed. “Maybe we should go out to Josephine’s office. Her chairs will be far more comfortable.”

“No,” Cullen said sharply. “We’ll do it here.” He glanced at the table but was worried about making a mess of the maps. Backing up until he felt the wall at his back, he braced himself against it and nodded at Anders. “I’m ready.”

Exasperation curling his lips, Anders nodded and stepped in front of him. He lifted his hands and Cullen had to concentrate on remaining relaxed in order to avoid flinching away from his touch. His hands were surprisingly warm against Cullen’s skin and the slight friction as Anders adjusted his grip made him squirm a little. Anders’ eyes fell shut and his head bowed slightly, their foreheads nearly touching. Cullen had only an instant to notice the wrinkle of concentration between Anders’ brows before he felt the magical energy wash over him.

The sensation was more intense this time, and Cullen realized that Anders must have changed the formula now that he knew what he was dealing with. The magic probed deeper than ever before, darting along his nerves and spreading out to every extremity, making his fingers and toes—and other, more intimate places—tingle with relief from the pain. The energy pulsed hot and cold, driving Cullen’s already weary mind mad with oversensitivity, and he heard himself moan rather loudly. Distantly, he felt his face flush, but he didn’t seem to be in control of his reactions because a moment later he found himself reaching out to Anders though he didn’t need to check his balance this time. Hands settling firmly on the mage’s narrow hips, he dragged him closer until their bodies collided, drinking in the delicious pressure with another moan.

Anders’ eyes snapped open and the flow of magic halted abruptly. “Cullen?” he hissed, warm brown eyes filled with confusion.

Stunned by the sudden absence of healing magic, Cullen stared at him in shock for a few moments before he realized their position and the suggestive way he was clinging to Anders’ hips. His face flooded with heat, he shoved Anders away, practically throwing him against the table.

Anders righted himself before he hit the floor, rubbing at his back where it had collided with the hard surface. Wincing, he gave Cullen a look of mixed annoyance and bewilderment.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said automatically, suddenly feeling as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. “But that did help. I feel much better now. Thank you.”

Anders just stared at him.

“Did I hurt you?” Cullen asked tentatively.

And still Anders stared, squinting at him in a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“It was a reflex,” Cullen whispered, raising his hand uselessly and then letting it fall again. “I didn’t mean to…”

Anders started to move and Cullen wasn’t able to react quickly enough before the mage had closed the distance between them, tilting his head at just the right angle to dodge Cullen’s nose as he leaned in to press a kiss against his lips. Cullen froze. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed, and he had certainly never been kissed by a man before. It wasn’t as strange as he would have imagined. For a moment he allowed Anders to move teasingly against him, the damp press of their lips against each other too wonderful to refuse, years of denial making him utterly vulnerable to the gesture. Anders’ free hand found a gap in the armor at his waist and he moaned again, his own hand instinctively sliding around to the small of Anders’ back in order to pull him closer. The kiss intensified and he felt Anders’ tongue flick against the parting of his lips, that last bit of sensation enough to finally snap him out of his daze.

Pushing him back a step without relinquishing his grip on Anders’ coat, Cullen asked in a rough voice, “What are you doing?”

Anders chuckled dryly. “Please tell me that you have been kissed before.”

Blushing again, Cullen shook his head in frustration. “ _ Why _ did you kiss me?” he revised.

His other eyebrow rising to match the first, Anders casually reached out and palmed Cullen's groin. Gasping in surprise, Cullen nearly jumped out of his own skin. He hadn’t noticed how tight his breeches were until Anders drew attention to his arousal.

“You did this to me,” he growled, catching Anders’ wrist. “With your magic.” Marching him back against the table, he snarled in his face, “And to think I had actually started to trust you.”

Anders’ eyes went wide. “The only thing I did was jump to the wrong conclusion. You’re the one who started rutting against me while I was trying to heal you! I can’t help that magic seems to get you off.” Twisting out of his grip, he slipped out of reach and rubbed at his wrist with a frown.

“Don’t touch me again,” Cullen whispered.

Shaking his head in disgust, Anders laughed humorlessly and lifted his palms as if to ward him off as he began backing his way to the door. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are more chapters to come, but I have a little more work to do on them before I can get them posted...


	6. Cullen/Anders - Alt 45 - Awkward Bedfellows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It probably isn’t much of a surprise that I wrote some alternate versions of this chapter. Many of them were only slightly different from the version I posted, but this is what it might have been if I had decided to go with a Cullen and Anders pairing in the end. It gets pretty intense...

After hours of working magic, Anders was starting to run dry, but he couldn’t rest just yet. Pressing his hands against the outside of the tub to cool the metal, he forced icy tendrils into the water until frost formed around the lip of the tub. Jerking away from the cold, Cullen slipped out of Cassandra’s grip and nearly slid beneath the surface of the water.

“Hold him steady,” Anders instructed more sharply than he had intended, but Cassandra hauled Cullen up out of the water without a response. She looked as exhausted as he felt at this point and it was no wonder; from what he’d heard, she’d been covering most of Cullen’s duties in addition to her own over the last two weeks. 

“I wish I could do more to help,” Dorian said from the far side of the tub, cupping water in his hands and pouring it over Cullen’s head, “but I still don’t have enough mana to light a candle.”

Anders shook his head. “You did most of the work earlier. Now it's my turn." Satisfied with the temperature of the water, he returned his hand to Cullen’s forehead to check his condition. To his relief, Cullen didn’t react to his touch. While a reaction might have been a sign that he was improving, most of Cullen’s reactions over the last several hours had been emotionally taxing to endure, consisting mostly of incoherent outbursts and violent attacks. Sighing with relief, he brushed damp hair out of Cullen’s face and lifted his eyelids one at a time to get a look at his pupils. 

“Well?” Cassandra asked when he was done.

“We’re through the worst,” Anders replied. “A few more minutes and I think we can move him to the bed.”

“Finally.” Dorian sighed, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. Anders could hear his back pop as he shifted his lean frame from side to side. Dorian arched a brow at him when he straightened. “Do you need more lyrium? You look about tapped out.”

Shaking his head, Anders smiled wearily. “I’d better not. I’ve already taken more than is entirely safe. Wouldn’t want to end up like him.”

Dorian chuckled, but Cassandra made a noise of disgust. “That’s not funny,” she said.

“It’s a little funny,” Dorian argued. 

Shaking his head, Anders rose to his feet and grimaced at the cramped muscles in his back. “Okay. Let’s get him to the bed.”

Cullen roused a bit when they lifted him, shivering violently and mumbling under his breath about blood mages and demons, but he didn’t have the strength to do more than bat at them while they toweled him off and carried him the short distance to the bed. Anders was panting from the exertion by the time they had him situated and tucked in, and he sat down on the edge of the bed just to catch his breath. Looking up, he noticed Dorian wavering enough on his feet that Cassandra reached out to steady him, but she didn't look much steadier on her own feet. 

“Cassandra,” Anders said gently. “Would you mind walking Dorian back to his quarters? I’m afraid that magebane has drained more than just his mana.”

Cassandra glanced at him, her expression blank with exhaustion. “Of course. I’ll be back soon.”

“Maybe you should find your own bed as well,” Dorian suggested, wrapping an arm around her shoulders when she nearly toppled over.

“Nonsense. I’m fine.”

Following them as they limped toward the door, Anders leaned close to Dorian’s ear. “Make sure she gets some rest. She still needs to cover for Cullen tomorrow.”

Dorian found his hand and gave it a squeeze. “As long as you promise to get some rest too.”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

When they were gone, Anders turned back to the bed with a sigh. Cullen was lying peacefully beneath the covers and snoring softly. Rest was the only thing that could heal him at this point. Anders had done everything he could do and now he would just have to wait. Toeing off his shoes, he doused the candles and stumbled toward the bed, too tired to do more than collapse on top of the covers. He was halfway toward sleep when he heard Cullen murmur something beside him.

“Tried to escape again, didn’t you?”

Cracking one eye open, Anders saw that Cullen was scowling at him. He looked more lucid than he had in hours, but something about his tone was wrong, his eyes only half-focusing on Anders as he spoke.

“Heard Bran bragging in the barracks,” Cullen mumbled drowsily. “Said he finally put your smart mouth to good use. I wanted to turn him in for abuse, but he said you offered to do it. In return for him looking the other way when you slipped through the gate.”

Anders frowned. He remembered that day. Not one of his better ones.

“He went to Greagoir the moment you left,” Cullen said, and he sounded angry. “He betrayed you.”

Swallowing hard, Anders considered whether or not to reply. Cullen’s mind was clearly in another time and place at the moment, and it was unlikely he would remember any of this in the morning. “I knew what he would do,” he said finally, “But it gave me a head start.”

“Was it worth it?”

Biting his lower lip, Anders looked away. “I wanted to be free.”

“A chance at freedom’s worth being used?”

“If it's on my terms, yes.”

Anders nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Cullen’s fingers brushing clumsily over his cheek. “You deserve better.”

Studying him silently, Anders wondered where this was coming from. Even if it were nothing more than feverish rambling, he couldn’t figure out why Cullen would say something like that. Cullen’s fingers brushed over his lips and he shivered. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, reaching up to grasp his wrist and push it away. “You need rest.”

But Cullen was amazingly persistent. “You've never asked me for any favors,” he said, twisting his wrist out of Anders’ grip and returning his palm to the side of Anders’ neck, his skin still feverishly warm. “You've never tried to seduce me like you did the others. Why not?”

Cullen’s words were becoming uncomfortably coherent now, and Anders was tempted to ignore them to avoid saying something he would regret. He was suddenly wishing that he hadn’t sent Dorian and Cassandra back to their own quarters. “I knew you would refuse,” he said softly, closing his eyes and hoping that Cullen would assume he had fallen asleep and leave him alone.

“Why?” Cullen’s hand slid down to the base of his neck, thumb rubbing lightly over Anders’ collarbone, and he did his best not to enjoy the sensation. “Why?” Cullen repeated.

“Because you take duty too seriously.”

Cullen made a strange noise at the back of his throat and Anders opened his eyes out of curiosity. “That’s not why. You assumed I wouldn’t be tempted,” Cullen accused, brows furrowed in annoyance.

Shrugging off Cullen’s touch, Anders rolled over and turned his back on him, determined to ignore him until morning. “Go to sleep, Cullen.”

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

Anders burrowed his face against the pillow and tried to ignore the rustle of covers as Cullen moved closer.

“You’re the exception,” Cullen murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist and dragging him backward until only the covers were between them. His breath tickled against the nape of Anders' neck as he added, “The exception to every rule I have.”

Staring at the stars twinkling through the open doorway, Anders tried to remember how to breathe. This was the fever talking. It had to be. Cullen had mixed up his memories, was thinking Anders was someone else from their days in the circle. Maybe Solona? She had been nearly as flirtatious as Anders, and Cullen had harbored a fairly obvious crush on her back then. She had even pulled similar tricks to escape the tower a few times. Yes. That was the only explanation that made sense. It would be cruel to correct Cullen in his fragile state. Better to let him think that he was confessing his love to Solona right now—or whoever else he thought he was cuddling—and then slip away quietly in the morning before he awoke. Let him have his illusion. Anders didn’t mind being held, even if the embrace was meant for someone else. 

But then Cullen’s hand drifted down over his stomach in a meandering path until it reached the hem of his shirt and slipped underneath. Lips mouthed at the back of Anders’ neck and warm fingertips traced curiously over his skin. Stiffening as his conscience reacted to the threat, Anders tried to twist out of Cullen’s grasp, but Cullen was still surprisingly strong in spite of his condition and Anders was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Before Anders had the presence of mind to even protest, he found himself being pulled under the covers and pinned down by an overheated body. 

Anders caught Cullen’s wrists where they were fumbling with the ties of his breeches and tried to get his attention. “Cullen,” he hissed. 

Even in the dim light, Anders could easily see the hunger in the man’s eyes. “Please,” Cullen pleaded and the vulnerability in his tone made Anders hesitate. “I need you.”

Cullen was still feverish to the touch and Anders worried that this little delusion would only set his recovery back. Lifting a hand to wipe sweat-drenched curls off Cullen's forehead, Anders was relieved to find that while his temperature was elevated it wasn’t dangerous. “What you need is sleep,” Anders countered. “And you’ll regret this once your head clears.”

“I’m tired of holding myself back. Watching but never touching. And I’ve been watching you a long time, Anders.” 

Unable to continue believing Cullen was dreaming of someone else, Anders was too shocked to resist as Cullen pushed his shirt out of the way and continued his previous exploration with his mouth. The sensation felt too wonderful to keep fighting. How long had it been since he’d been touched by anyone like this? Unlike Cullen, he wasn’t designed to resist this sort of temptation for long, and while he’d avoided complicating his relationships with people in the Inquisition up to this point, the logical reasons for holding himself back dissolved here in the dark with a willing partner pressed up against him so eagerly. 

And it wasn’t as if he’d never looked at Cullen with desire. The man had always been attractive but aloof, seemingly unaware of his own physicality. The mages in the circle had an ongoing competition to see who could tempt the perfect Templar out of his vows first, but no one had succeeded. Cullen was too good, too disciplined and never showed a sign of wavering. In Kirkwall, Anders had his reasons for keeping a wary distance, and even as they’d become more accepting of each other during their time in the Inquisition, Cullen had been too prickly for Anders to consider any intimacy beyond healing. They would probably never see eye-to-eye, but they didn’t need to agree on much of anything to be sufficiently compatible in this way.

Knowing he was likely going to regret his lack of self-control in the morning when Cullen returned to his senses and realized what he’d done, Anders decided to ignore the consequences and finally began returning Cullen's touches, his hands drifting hungrily over Cullen's muscular back. He’d managed to keep his thoughts and touches platonic as he tended to Cullen before, but on some level he’d still been conscious of how fit the man was, how the battle scars and little imperfections only gave dimension to the firm planes of his body. Cullen’s lips found Anders’ in the dark and they fell into a kiss that became too deep too quickly, rough and unstudied and perfect, exactly what Anders needed after so many years alone. 

Anders was lost to sensation after that, accepting Cullen’s clumsy but fervent touches with grateful moans—no one had ever accused him of being too quiet in bed—and although it had been a while for him, he found himself guiding Cullen through the motions and drawing little gasps and curses from the commander’s lips when he did something that surprised him. Most of what Anders knew seemed to surprise Cullen, but he made up for his inexperience with enthusiasm and his touches became less controlled as they continued, verging on violent as he clung to Anders possessively. Anders knew he would have bruises on his skin in the morning but decided he didn’t mind, especially after so long without any kind of contact at all.

Although he barely seemed to know how any of this was supposed to work, Cullen knew enough about the logistics to understand what went where and that preparation was required. But before Anders had a chance to slow him down enough to find something to assist in their situation, Cullen was shoving fingers into his mouth, nearly choking him in his eagerness. As long as it had been since Anders had done this, it had been even longer since he’d done it with nothing but spit to slick the way. He knew that this was one more thing he would regret by morning, but he was too entranced by the desire in Cullen’s eyes to stop him long enough to find a better solution. If he hadn’t burned himself out magically after all the healing he’d done, he might have used a grease spell, but he couldn’t scrape together enough energy to even create a spark on his fingertips.

Tentative but thorough in his work, Cullen met Anders’ eyes when he grimaced and spoke for the first time since he’d pulled Anders under the covers. “Is this okay?” 

It burned and was barely tolerable, but Anders had done this enough times to find the sensations arousing in spite of the pain. He knew where it was all leading and that it would be worth it when they got there. Anders could barely find breath to speak, but finally managed to reply, “Yes. Keep going.”

Cullen became bolder then and soon had Anders writhing beneath him. It wasn’t until he removed his fingers that Anders returned to his senses. He wanted to enjoy what came next and Cullen’s eagerness could ruin that if he wasn’t careful. “Lie back,” Anders suggested, pushing on one broad shoulder to turn him. Looking at him in confusion, Cullen resisted. He wanted to be on top, clearly. But he relented when Anders explained, “I want to show you what I did for Bran.”

As soon as they had switched positions, Anders descended beneath the blankets and put his mouth to use. Cullen was a bit larger than most and Anders was out of practice, but muscle memory quickly took over and he soon found himself humming with pleasure even as he was wringing unholy sounds from Cullen’s throat, broken invocations to the Maker and Andraste that were inappropriate enough that they made Anders shiver in delight.

Spasming beneath him suddenly, Cullen clung to his hair to make him stop. “Anders,” he gasped urgently, “I can’t…”

Anders considered finishing him off right then. It would probably be easier on his conscience if he stopped things now. As much as Anders craved the touch and wanted to give Cullen everything he was asking for, he knew that he was in a vulnerable state and Anders should be acting like the responsible one in this situation. Pulling back enough that he could catch his breath, he hesitated.

But his indecision took the option away from him because it gave Cullen enough time to get his arousal in check and take control of the situation. Lifting Anders off of him and rolling them over so that he was on top again, he gripped Anders hips harshly to get him in position and gave him a desperate look in search of consent. Anders was stunned by his restraint given his current state; he had been with enough inebriated partners to know that few remained respectful of boundaries when inhibitions got low, but Cullen managed to hold himself back in spite of his delirium.

“Are you ready?” He asked in a hoarse voice and Anders nodded.

And that was the limit of Cullen’s restraint. Forcing himself inside with one brutal thrust, Cullen moaned deeply as he bottomed out, pausing for only a moment before he began moving again, intent and urgency in every powerful thrust. Anders quickly realized that he wasn’t ready at all, startled by how visceral the sensations were after so long without and Cullen wasn’t giving him enough time to adjust. Focusing on relaxing as much as he could in spite of the uncomfortable fullness and the relentlessness of Cullen’s movements, he eventually felt the way becoming easier and the pain giving way to a numb ache and the beginnings of pleasure.

Cullen leaned down to give him another searing kiss and the change of angle had Anders seeing stars. Neither of them lasted long after that, and the incredible relief of blindly crashing over that glorious precipice was enough to bury any inkling of regret Anders might have had. Still glowing with pleasure, he didn’t even mind when Cullen collapsed on top of him and crushed him beneath his weight; while it was not the most polite habit in a lover, Anders rather enjoyed the feeling of being utterly overwhelmed by someone else. 

Cullen was still for so long that Anders began to suspect he’d fallen asleep, but eventually he separated from Anders and rolled onto his back with a sigh. Rolling on his side in the other direction, Anders waited for the fallout, the reality of what they’d done to catch up with Cullen. It might not happen until morning, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it hit someone like Cullen much more quickly. 

To his surprise, Cullen stroked his knuckles gently down Anders’ spine and asked in an uncertain voice, “Are you okay?” as if Anders was the one who might have a problem with what had happened. Or was he afraid he’d hurt Anders somehow? He’d certainly been rough enough to warrant concern, but it was nothing compared to the kind of violent sex Anders had sought out in his wilder days.

Anders couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I’m amazing,” he replied coyly, looking back over his shoulder. “You?”

Cullen was closer than he’d expected, close enough to press a kiss against his shoulder. “I want to do that again,” he whispered.

Eyes widening, Anders said, “Already?”

Cullen chuckled, and Anders didn’t think he’d ever heard him laugh like that before. “Not just yet. But soon.” His hand slid around Anders’ hip as he shifted into position to spoon him; somehow he wasn’t surprised that Cullen liked to cuddle. He just hadn’t expected to ever find himself in the position of cuddling with him. “You interested?” Cullen asked, nuzzling at Anders’ jaw.

“ _ Now _ you’re asking?”

Cullen laughed at that and pulled him closer, his grip only loosening when he finally fell asleep. It took Anders a bit longer to follow, still too wary to hope that Cullen would remember this feeling when he woke. His fever had broken, but there was no telling how many details he would be able to recall. Anders felt a little guilty thinking about it as he drifted off, but decided not to bother with regrets until morning.

He woke with the sun already high in the sky. Stirring reluctantly, he was unsurprised to find that Cullen was gone, the only sign of his presence in the covers that had been tucked tightly around Anders to keep him warm.


	7. Cullen/Anders - Alt 47 - Winter Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of wish I'd kept this scene in the story now, but I think I decided to leave it out because it slowed down the pacing. It doesn't violate much in terms of the way the story played out and it shows that I had thoughts about Cassandra and Cullen even this early in the story.

"Commander Cullen, won't you dance with me?" The young woman had asked him nearly a dozen times at this point, and no matter how many times he refused, she kept returning to ask again. She appeared to be nearly half his age, but was still bold enough to reach out and brush her fingers over his jacket.

Nearly coming out of his skin at even the light touch, he clumsily removed her hand and backed away a step. "No, thank you, my lady."

She huffed in response, and her voice raised in pitch as she said, "Are you really just going to stand there all night? You are nothing but a tease, Commander Cullen!" 

"Yes, he is," a young man said from the other side of the table Cullen had been using to shield himself from his admirers. "But the chase makes the victory sweeter, don’t you think?"

Cullen changed his groan into a slightly less offensive sigh, turning away from them both and trying to ignore the longing gazes on his back. It was bad enough that half the royal court seemed intent on treating him as an object for their lust without his own body betraying him. But ever since the lyrium had been purged from his system, his body had suddenly reverted to that of a teenager, so eager to sate its sudden influx of cravings that it was willing to jump at nearly every opportunity that presented itself. He had been in a constant struggle to keep his head despite the distraction, and now that he was surrounded by temptation, he was having to develop monk-like reflexes simply to keep the desires at bay. 

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by this particular side effect of his healing. Lyrium had a tendency to suppress sexual desire, and his withdrawal had taken away what little interest he still had left. It was no wonder that he was having to relearn certain inhibitions now that the unnatural suppressant was gone. But it was still damned irritating. And uncomfortably reminiscent of the torture he had once endured at the hands of a desire demon.

Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the report one of his soldiers had delivered. Someone was smuggling men into the palace, and if the report was accurate, their own troops would soon be outnumbered. They needed answers quickly, and yet Anders was wandering around chatting with nobles and wasting his time following leads from Celene’s pet apostate. They needed him to focus more on the mission and less on keeping the nobles happy. 

Shifting impatiently from one foot to the other, Cullen suddenly noticed how all of the nobles had turned toward the dance floor with rapt attention, eyes fixed on the dancers as if expecting to find the secrets of the universe revealed between the twists of their torsos. Typical Orlesians. Then he noticed that Anders was one half of the pair at the center. To his surprise, the mage was not only floating across the polished floor with Grand Duchess Florianne on his arm, but he was also dancing with such grace that he looked like he had been doing it all his life. Cullen didn't know how much practice Anders had put in with Josephine, but if it was anything like the training Cullen had received, it had hardly been sufficient to do more than prevent a complete embarrassment. But this wouldn't be the first skill Anders had picked up with unexpected ease. 

“Cullen," Leliana said suddenly in his ear and he shivered involuntarily. "The Inquisitor is almost finished with his dance. Let's go." She said that as if Anders’ dance had some particular significance, leaving him to wonder what he had missed. Frowning, he turned to follow as she walked away, but had trouble keeping up with her swift steps.

Josephine was already fawning over Anders by the time they reached him. “You’ll be the talk of the court for months,” she sighed happily. “We should take you dancing more often.”

“Let’s not,” Anders said with a grimace. “I think I’d rather face demons.”

“Oh, you’re facing similar dangers here. They are simply better dressed.”

“How did you manage to arrange a dance with Duchess Florianne?” Leliana asked eagerly, and Cullen rolled his eyes. Despite their usual professionalism, Leliana and Josephine were both women who had been raised among nobility, and some habits were ingrained from birth; it should not have surprised him that they had cornered Anders after his dance for no reason beyond gossip.

“Florianne suggested it,” Anders replied, “to give us a chance to talk away from prying ears.”

“Oh?” Leliana said in a surprised tone although there was no surprise in her expression. “Then you must have learned something interesting.”

Anders shrugged. “A few things.” Anders detailed everything he had learned and the rest of them chimed in with bits of information they’d gathered as well, but eventually the conversation descended into an argument over how they should interpret what they had learned.

“We could speculate all night,’ Josephine said finally with pursed lips, and Cullen hated that even such an innocent expression seemed suggestive to him in his current state of mind. “But we simply don’t have enough information. We need you to search the private quarters for clues.”

“Shouldn’t we warn Celene first?” Anders asked, eyes widening in surprise.

Josephine shook her head. “Warning Celene is pointless. She needs these talks to succeed and to flee would admit defeat.”

“Then perhaps we should let her die,” Leliana said with such dispassionate aplomb that Cullen shivered in reaction.

Anders’ eyes widened even further. “What?”

“Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor,” Leliana continued. “What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive, that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening, someone must emerge victorious.”

Cullen nodded, following her train of thought and liking where it led in spite of the callousness of making such a decision. “And it doesn’t need to be Celene. She’s right.”

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting, Leliana?” Josephine demanded, outraged. She looked around to make certain that no one was listening in—as if Leliana would have been careless enough to say such a thing out loud if there were eavesdroppers close enough to overhear.

Leliana shrugged. “Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one.”

Frowning, Anders crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re suggesting that we should decide what’s best for Orlais.”

“More than that,” Cullen said in realization. “Whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect all of Thedas.”

Anders sighed. “Who do you recommend?”

When they all put their cards on the table, it was hardly surprising that none of them agreed on who should lead Orlais. Despite the evidence against him, Cullen still felt Gaspard was the best choice for the sort of Orlais they needed as an ally in this time of war. To his surprise, Leliana threw her vote behind Briala and the elves despite the many obstacles such a path presented. Predictably, Josephine chose Celene. But Anders seemed to have no clear preference, and that both annoyed and worried Cullen. If Anders had a chance to make the decision on his own, things could go badly.

“I suppose I should start making my way to the royal wing,” Anders said with a sigh when Josephine and Leliana wandered back into the crowd. 

“Stop rubbing it in,” Cullen snapped. “As usual, you’ve found a way to escape.” 

He regretted his comment as soon as he saw the playful twist to Anders’ lips. “You’re welcome to come with me, you know. I’m sure I could find some use for your sword.” 

Cullen scowled. Anders had been like this since that regrettable morning in his quarters. At first he had kept his distance and deliberately given Cullen space, but when Cullen continued to avoid him, refusing to even acknowledge his presence unless absolutely necessary, he became annoyed. And when Anders was annoyed, he acted out. Unfortunately for Cullen, Anders’ primary method of acting out felt an awful lot like flirtation.

The worst part was that Cullen could understand why Anders was angry. Anders and Dorian had gone to quite a bit of trouble to heal his addiction, and his behavior now was unappreciative at best and downright cruel at worst. But the truth was that after that awkward experience the morning after his healing and the reactions of his body ever since, he simply didn’t know what to say or how to act. Just being near Anders now reminded him of how close they had been in that bed, how very nearly Cullen had come to kissing him. Cullen had never questioned his sexuality before—and he refused to admit that he was questioning it now—but Anders confused him even on a good day. The man seemed to exude a magnetic allure that drew everyone regardless of gender or preference. He had felt the tug even back in the tower, but he had never once considered acting on it—at least not until his body started changing the rules on him and jumping at every possibility that put itself in his path. But he refused to let his body make his decisions for him.

“As much as I’d love to leave the party,” Cullen said irritably, “everyone here knows that I’m in charge of the Inquisition’s forces. If I disappear they’ll all assume we’re planning an attack.” 

"That must be such a burden," Anders drawled, nodding at the flock of admirers who were already starting to make their way across the ballroom in search of Cullen. "What with all the attention you're getting."

Cullen slapped a hand against his thigh in frustration. "Damn. I thought I might have finally lost them. They won't leave me alone for even a moment."

"Would you like me to get rid of them?" Anders asked with a mischievous grin that Cullen immediately distrusted.

Eyes narrowing, Cullen studied him closely. "And how exactly do you plan to accomplish that?"

"If I told you, it would ruin my plan. Decide quickly. They're almost here."

He had a suspicion that Anders' solution would only encourage the sort of desires he was trying to ignore, but he wasn't sure if it would be any worse than the alternative. Glaring at the growing horde descending on them, Cullen asked, "What's your price?"

Anders didn’t even hesitate. "Stop treating me like a pariah. I know you're embarrassed, but nothing actually happened. It was a misunderstanding. Nothing more."

Feeling a blush heat his cheeks, Cullen muttered, "Fine." Strangely, having Anders acknowledge what had happened and dismiss it so easily actually did make him feel better.

"Then you want my help?"

Cullen nodded, hearing some of his admirers already calling out his name. Then he felt an impact against his jaw, and his head spun sideways so hard he almost lost his balance. The approaching crowd all gasped in unison. He hadn’t expected that Anders knew how to punch effectively, but clearly he’d been wrong—and by the exhilaration in the mage’s eyes, he’d been waiting a long time to do it. At least he hadn't kissed him. 

"How dare you?" Anders demanded loudly.

Rubbing his jaw, Cullen stared back at him in shock. 

"You made one promise, and now you're going to break it? And after you've spent all night flirting with anyone who so much as looked at you?" Anders shook his head in disgust, doing such a good job of acting outraged that Cullen actually felt a bit abashed. "I've seen you standing over there surrounded by adoring courtesans while she waits patiently in the vestibule. Waiting for you to fulfill your promise."

"I...don't know what to say," Cullen said honestly.

Anders leaned closer, and the crowd leaned in as well to overhear his words as he dropped his voice. "Five little words, Commander: will you dance with me?"

Despite the things Anders had already said, Cullen was so confused—not to mention distracted by the mage's proximity—that he thought for a moment that Anders was actually asking him to dance. "I can't," he said reflexively, and Anders shook his head again.

"Ask Cassandra to dance," he said as he backed away, jabbing his finger firmly at Cullen's chest. "She's still waiting for you, but she won't be for much longer."

Cullen's mouth fell open, but he didn't speak, unable to trust his voice at the moment.

Nodding as if the matter were settled, Anders turned to walk away, waving his hand at the crowd in an attempt to disperse them. "And all of you: leave him alone. Can't you see he's taken?"

To Cullen's surprise, they did as Anders ordered, exchanging glances with each other and looking disapprovingly at Cullen before going their separate ways in search of more available prey. Anders' bizarre tactic had worked. Slumping back against the nearest wall, Cullen sighed deeply in relief.

"Well, well," purred a familiar voice from the shadows beside him. "You and Cassandra, hm? Who knew?"

"Certainly not me," Cullen replied, shaking his head.

"He could have done far worse."

Cullen cleared his throat. "I'm well aware."

“How’s your jaw?”

“It’ll bruise. But I suppose I deserved it.”

“I suppose you did.” She smiled coyly. "You'd better go ask Cassandra for that dance or the court will get suspicious."

"You can't be serious."

"Commander! I do not make jokes about the Great Game."

Groaning, he pushed himself away from the wall. This was what he got for accepting a favor from Anders. 


	8. Varric/Anders – Alt after 57 - Bianca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this scene before I wrote the chapter with Bianca. I hadn't decided how I wanted that part to play out yet and this idea popped into my head. Even though it didn't end up in the fic, it's probably the reason I ended up going with a Varric/Anders pairing.

“That’s my Bianca,” Varric laughed as he finished his story, but his smile quickly sobered as reality came back into focus. Finishing off his drink to cover the bitter taste in his mouth, he leaned forward to pick up the bottle and top off his glass.

“Varric,” Anders said softly, placing a hand over the tumbler before he could pick it up. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Varric tugged the glass out from beneath Anders’ grip, sloshing a little over the side, but Anders took the bottle instead and moved it out of reach.

Gazing down at the bottle, Anders said wistfully, “Maybe when all of this is over, we can use the Inquisition's influence to put pressure on the merchant’s guild. We could find a way for the two of you to be together.”

“She’s married, Blondie.”

“Not to the man she loves.”

Varric pointed at him with his empty glass. “You can’t fix this.”

Straightening his back and lifting his chin a fraction, Anders replied, “You don’t know that.”

“You’d kill yourself trying.”

Anders shrugged. “There are worse things to die for.”

Laughing in disbelief, Varric slammed his empty glass down on the table. “Not a chance. The last thing I’m going to let you martyr yourself over is me.” Nodding at the bottle, he added, “Now pour me another.”

Anders smiled tightly. “If you want another drink, you’ll have to come over here and get it.”

“Fine.” 

Standing up, Varric thought he might be less drunk than he’d expected until he took his first step. The floor seemed to melt beneath his feet, and before he knew it, he was stumbling toward Anders and the mage was trying to slip away with the bottle. Varric caught his hip before he could escape, throwing him back down onto the couch and wrestling with him for a moment until he got a hand on the bottle. While he was trying to wrest it from Anders' grip, he suddenly realized how close they were. He was straddling one of Anders' thighs, his knees sinking into the cushion on either side, and he could hear Anders’ panting breaths in his ear as they struggled.

Forgetting about the bottle entirely, he used his weight to press Anders down against the couch, gripping at his hair to adjust his head until they were nose to nose. Anders’ eyes were dilated, pale skin flushed pink as he blinked at Varric in confusion. If he were being honest, Varric had always had bit of a thing for Anders, more curiosity than anything else, but his attraction had always remained so safely buried beneath layers of platonic affection that he’d never expected to act on it. But seeing Bianca again had opened up all his old wounds. He needed to stop the bleeding, and Anders happened to be almost as lonely as he was. It was probably a horrible idea, but his judgment was impaired just enough to think it was brilliant.

“I’ll take that drink now,” Varric whispered, leaning in slowly to give Anders plenty of time to stop him, but the mage didn’t move.

And then they were kissing, lips brushing over each other in slow, tender movements that made his chest burn with need. He knew as soon as Anders started kissing him back that he was in over his head. For all his swagger and confidence, Varric had only had a few partners in his life, and none of them had been as experienced as he knew Anders was. Losing himself to sensation, he let Anders take control, clever fingers pushing his tunic back over his shoulders and exploring his chest while eager hips arched up to press against him. Trying a little exploration of his own, he lifted the hem of Anders’ shirt and snuck his hands underneath, tracing over Anders’ stomach, surprised to find knots of wiry muscle hiding beneath his skin. Searching higher, his fingers found the hollow valleys between ribs and the uneven lines of scars, and he pulled away long enough to tug insistently at the fabric until Anders lifted his arms and allowed Varric to pull the shirt over his head.

Looking at the scars his fingers had discovered, Varric felt a bit of soberness dampen the mood. “Why didn’t you heal those?”

“They happened after Kirkwall.” Anders said dismissively as if that explained everything. Watching him uncertainly, he breathed, “What are we doing, Varric?”

Varric swallowed. “Trying to forget.”

Smiling sadly, Anders traced gentle lines over Varric’s face before somehow managing to slip out from between him and the couch. He pushed Varric’s shoulder until he turned and sat back, watching in confusion while Anders knelt down in front of him and settled between his knees.

“Blondie,” he whispered, but Anders only smiled faintly, reaching for Varric’s belt.

His heart jolted, stomach tightening when he realized what Anders intended, his hand landing on that blond head and trying to lift it to meet his eyes. He wanted to tell him to stop, that Anders didn’t need to do this, but he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even string a thought together before Anders had unfastened his breeches and reached inside. Anders’ eyes widened a bit once Varric was exposed—most people failed to remember that what dwarves lacked in height they more than made up for in girth—but he didn’t hesitate long enough for Varric to find his voice. And then Varric was too occupied with involuntary moans to manage speech, his fingers threading into silky hair while an even silkier tongue touched him in places he hadn’t been touched for longer than he could remember.

He tried to control his reactions, but Anders was amazing at this, took him down without hesitation despite his size and did interesting things with his tongue that made sparks explode behind Varric’s eyelids. He wanted it to last forever, but before he knew it he was flying, soaring somewhere high over Skyhold while still buried tightly in his best friend’s throat, his hand instinctively clamping down on the nape of Anders’ neck to keep him there just a moment longer. Nearly whimpering in ecstasy as he came back down to earth, he went boneless and limp, opening his eyes to watch as Anders deftly cleaned him up and put him away.

Licking his lips, Anders sat back on his heels and looked up at him uncertainly. “Better?” he asked, voice a bit hoarse and so unexpectedly sexy that it made Varric shiver with desire.

“Come here,” Varric said softly, his own voice equally wrecked despite his lack of participation so far.

Anders’ responding smile was so sad it nearly broke his heart. “No. I...wanted to do that for you. To help you forget.” He stood up slowly. “But you don’t need to do anything in return.”

“And if I want to?” Leaning forward, Varric reached for his wrist, but Anders slipped out of reach. 

“I’m not Bianca,” Anders whispered, and for once the reminder didn’t sting.

Standing up with only a little assistance from the back of the couch, Varric lunged for Anders again and actually caught him this time. “I haven’t been thinking about Bianca for a while now,” he said as he closed the distance between them.

“You’re drunk,” Anders protested, making a weak attempt to tug his wrist out of Varric’s grip.

Sliding his hands around Anders’ bare waist and settling them firmly in the small of his back, Varric pulled them against each other and grinned when he heard Anders groan at the contact. “I’m feeling pretty sober at the moment.”

Anders closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again they were filled with determination. He took a step back and Varric reluctantly let him go. “Ask me tomorrow,” Anders said in thick voice. “If you still want me then, I’ll say yes.”

Varric realized with a sinking feeling that he would be doing exactly what Anders was doing if their positions were reversed. He was a little surprised—and a little disappointed at the moment—to learn that Anders was capable of that kind of restraint, but it only made Varric respect him more. “Okay, Blondie.”

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” Anders offered, but Varric maintained the distance between them with an outstretched hand. 

“No. I can find my own way back. You’re too tempting right now.”

Anders seemed a bit amused by that, but nodded. 

“Good night,” Varric said, collecting his tunic and shrugging into it. 

“Night.” Hugging his arms to himself, Anders frowned as he watched Varric go, and it took every bit of Varric’s self-control to keep walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a longer, more explicit version of this, but I think it makes more sense that this scene would have ended here. If anyone is interested in reading the longer version, let me know and I'll see what I can do.


End file.
